This Is How I Disappear
by Meredith-Grey
Summary: Set two years after the series finale. Logan has a near-death experience while Rory finally commits to a serious relationship with Jess. Logan angst, Lit romance.
1. To unexplain the unforgivable,

**Title: **_This Is How I Disappear_

**Rating: **_R_

**Date Written**: _12-26-07_

**Disclaimer: **_I don't own any of this. Gilmore Girls belongs to Amy Sherman-Paladino and the folks at the WB (or the CW, whatever they call it these days). Title comes from the song of the same name by MCR._

**Summary:** _Implied Lit, some parts Logan-centric. Set two years after series finale. Logan tries to make sense of his life while Rory finds happiness in hers. Slight angst, some romance._

**A/N:**_I know all my Lit readers a scratching their heads right now wondering what the hell I'm writing, but don't worry. This will be a shorter type story than what I usually write, with characters I don't usually use, in a setting that I rarely write about. Adventurous, yeah? I'd love to get some response for this, reviews equal updates._

**Chapter One: To un-explain the unforgivable**

California.

Burning sun and shinning bodies, everything partially man-made but better for it. Silicone and self-tanning, bleached teeth. He was the master of cocktail negotiations and playing it up, showing face, having a good time. Business had begun to do him well.

Of course, it hadn't started out so smoothly. Crashing companies and putting up a fight with his father and his big checks that just kept rolling in--gathering speed the way planes did before they collided with the ground.

He was alone out here, alone with his Porsche and his apartment overlooking San Francisco Bay and his fat bank account. He hadn't planned on it working out like this. No, not at all.

But Rory had been a wild card. He had assumed--however stupidly--that she would go along with this, with sticking with him for a few years and taking care of her own career a little later. That had been his plan. Fuck if it didn't work out.

She had turned him down. Shot his proposal straight to shit. He'd seen something in her eyes, a determination, something akin to protectiveness. It was like really looking at her for the first time. Loosing her. When you're going down everything begins to make sense.

* * *

Driving with the top down. Saturday afternoons with sunglasses and curves that looked out over the Pacific. So blue. The kind of thing that could swallow you up and rest you down in it's sloshing basin of cool darkness. He was pulling eighty on the hairpin turns, that's what his goddam car was made for.

A dolled up face in the passenger seat. One of those healthy girls that refused to dye her hair but wore way too much mascara. Golden skin with some kind of C name that had probably been invented by cliché type naturalist parents in Berkley.

She was the anti-Rory. Sleeping Beauty and Rose Red, the shock of sand against the surf.

From a different world, this girl. Someone who could care less about schools covered in Ivy and old families from tinny states with big names. It's comforting, being able to start over at twenty-four. Most people never even get the chance.

He wasn't going to pass this up. This. Whatever the hell any of this was. It was a novel-esque kind of life.

Candy mouth and hairless limbs and eyes that waft in the airways and tan soft arms that crush against the leather interior of his hundred thousand dollar sports car--

A rose by any other name would smell as sweet . . .

* * *

Nothing about this had been easy. Was Jess every easy? That worked out just fine, when she thought about it. It gave her time to weigh her options, make up her mind, enough time to make her want him. Was she being played? No. Just handled by someone who knew women the way she knew words.

She liked his confidence. But--more than that--his uncanny ability to quickly fall into her steps, to actually look at her when she talked.

That meant something.

The year was ending, October, November, December. Months and months of go away, come here, let's talk, lets avoid the obvious.

She was slowly loosing her mind. Talking with Jess, seeing Jess, wanting Jess--it was like someone had taken the hard core of her seventeen-year-old desire and charged it twenty times over. What was this? It was her newfound ability to think without her blinders on. Things were becoming clear in every direction she looked. Her past, her writing, her dreams. She saw the pulsing press of her veins hidden beneath her sleeve.

_Thump, thump, thump . . ._

She could feel the thunder of a base-line racket through her chest. Finally, something more than DAR functions and boys that looked good in resume-form only.

* * *

What could he say? He'd thought less and less about her the longer they'd been away. Being refused hadn't been so shocking, not completely. Her opposition had felt more like a last-ditch attempt not to conform. With pastels and polo's and pink fingernails she didn't have many other options. Turning down marriage probably made her feel more independent, like the adult that she so desperately wanted to become.

But people ask questions to get answers. Right or wrong, yes or no, rebuke or laughter. He couldn't help but feel a little bit cheated. If he had bothered to get to know her maybe he would have realized that Rory Gilmore would never become anyone's _wife. _She was too independently driven to sign herself away like that.

Holding everyone at arms length. What was so terrible that she couldn't share?

Across the country and joyriding at breakneck speeds, Logan acknowledged the fact that she never gave him the chance to know.

* * *

They say that too much of anything will make you crazy. Or sick. Tired

Rory could only disagree.

She'd admit to the last one, but she felt more worn out than anything. Was it possible to be exhausted from too much happiness? They say everything is a matter of science.

It took all she had to cover herself and collapse beside him. Still weak from their previous activities, she curled up beside Jess with her senses cooling, calming themselves, the muscular sections of her body deliciously spent.

She was chocking on her own wonder. In her mind she played the idiot and the scholar. What moron would have waited nearly six years the way she had? _This moron_, she chided herself, on the fast track to slumber. _Could never have it any other way._

And all she could think in those last dying seconds before unconsciousness was that she has finally found it, made it, _finally, finally._

In sleep our dreams are won.

* * *

He got the things he expected to receive. Money, credibility, exaggeration and flamboyant success. No surprises.

It's easy to say I Love You. Lying and believing the crap you push on other people only made him stronger. The fact that he would never accomplish anything worth writing a novel about--that just made him thin, like a membrane that was slowly dissolving. Water that pushed through his skin, it was only a matter of science. Osmosis where his hands were shriveling, collapsing in on themselves, becoming smaller and smaller until he was part of the earth. Rushing out, this was how people lost themselves in their lives.

Clear and growing steadily into nothing, he was fading into the background, fading from high and tangible to less and less, fading into water and eternal sleep.

So blue. He was a speck beneath the surface. How far do we sink before we become less than ourselves?

In death all our losses disappear.


	2. Drain all the blood

**Disclaimer:**_I don't own any of this. Gilmore Girls belongs to Amy Sherman-Paladino and the folks at the WB (or the CW, whatever they call it these days). Title comes from the song of the same name by MCR._

**Rating:**_ R, mostly for language._

**Date Starter: **_12-26-07_

**Date Finished:**_12-29-07_

**Summary:**_Set two years after the series finale. Logan has a near-death experience while Rory finally commits to a serious relationship with Jess. Logan angst, Lit romance._

**A/N:**_Some of you guys asked for more Lit, and I can promise you there will be more, but these first few chapters are here to kind of establish the basics of the story. The Jess/Rory interaction will come much more quickly than in my other story, Pulse. I know a lot of Lit's aren't Logan fans but I ask you to please review, I really appreciate it._

**Chapter Two: Drain all the blood and give the kids a show**

The cold enveloped him, rushing through his body, over his skin. Once his face slipped under the meniscus of the water it grew continually easier to submit. Breath in, breath out. Swallow. To float limply as his muscles burned and contracted.

The currents were strong enough to carry him farther than he had expected. In the rush of water and declining oxygen he began to feel light headed at first, and then limp, as the sensation continued

His thoughts became alarmingly focused. _Move_. He felt the shift in his arms, his legs. By this time his lungs were screaming. Stars were appearing along the rim of his vision, like looking through a quickly blackening tunnel . . .

---

He felt rocks scrape against his stomach, the rough glide of sand and broken seashells. A pair of firm hands had wrapped themselves around his torso, dragging him to shore. Every time he attempted to breath it felt as if his lungs were laced with needles, puncturing and expanding along with the struggling movements of his chest.

His eyes began to open, making his vision into a faintly parted slit of light. The sky was steely gray and unwelcoming.

Water sloshed out of his mouth while the figure pressed steady hands into his chest plate. The standard CPR procedure. He was given air and then pressed again. Logan could only sputter and clutch his throat.

There was the definite sensation of being lifted, carried like a woman with one of the strangers arms under his neck and the crook of his knees. Images swam before his bleary eyes, one of the rocks that ran along the edges of the bay, and then another of the frothing, indigo surf that had nearly killed him. His head lolled back onto the strangers shoulder, and there was no more.

---

"How long has he been like that?"

"A few hours, perhaps. Not long enough to warrant concern. He's sleeping."

"And why . . . "

"Was he found nearly dead in the San Francisco Bay? I don't know what to tell you. And investigator found that his car was parked a short distance from a stretch of rougher coastline. He could have easily fallen in, or been pushed. Until he wakes up we can't be sure of anything. Just a standard case of drowning at this point."

The cool, professional tone of the man's voice implied that the situation was under control, but the young woman was not so quickly assured.

"Was there anyone with him? A girl or something." The woman's voice was maddeningly familiar. "What are the chances of being rescued by a forty-eight year old fishermen in the middle of December? I mean, do you know if Logan had anything to _drink_ before this happened? Don't tell anyone this, but he sometimes has a problem with . . ."

"With what, if you don't mind me asking."

"With drinking."

"His blood levels don't show any trace of alcohol. If Mr. Huntzberger did this himself he was not intoxicated."

"What are you suggesting?"

"That this could be a case of attempted suicide. It seems very unlikely, but it's still a possibility. Like I said before, until your brother wakes up we can't really be sure of anything. Everything's up in the air at the moment."

He opened his eyes, groaning from the stinging sensation that it caused. "Honor?"

The blond woman who had been standing at the foot of his bed came forward cautiously, as if he were made of glass. He pressed his fingertips to his temples in a soothing manner. Honor sat down next to him, taking his hand.

"I didn't fall."

"Logan . . . " She warned.

"And no one pushed me in."

He felt nothing as his sister's face began to take on a very ugly expression. She was beginning to understand the implications of his words.

"I just sort of . . . jumped in. It seemed very logical at the time. I'd been on my way home, I'd gone driving with a friend, and the water was just there and I was there, and I felt very calm."

She began to cry. The doctor took it all with a capped, solemn look on his face.

"Were you trying to kill yourself, Mr. Huntzburger?"

"I didn't really think about it."

Honor rose from his side and left, stopping somewhere in the hallway.

"My name is Doctor Blanchart," He came forward and shook Logan's hand. He made a few notes on a clipboard that Logan hadn't spotted earlier. "I'm going to be recommending you to a psychiatrist, it may not be necessary but I'd rather make sure. And, if you'll agree to it, you'd do well with weekly visits to a psychologist. Sometimes there are issues that pills just don't cover"

He nodded in understanding.

"There's not much I can do for you, besides making sure your lungs clear. I'm sure this is a much more complex issue than just deciding to take a dip in the San Francisco Bay. Now, could you tell me a bit about your medical history?"

Dr. Blanchart took more notes and asked questions frequently. Logan's answers were just as clinical and stark as the white on white walls and bedcovers. He wanted to crawl back underneath the down comforter and sleep again. His throat was sore, and that was uncomfortable, but he was alright. The band around his wrist itched uncomfortably, but the sky outside his window was a placid, deep purple. He slept very soundly.

---

He left the next day but not before meeting the fisherman who had saved his life. Honor led him away quickly, but not before Logan slipped the gruff man a thick wad of cash, to show his gratitude. It didn't matter. He had more money than he knew what to do with.

"Mom called," Honor said, starting up the engine of her Mercedes Benz as they began to exit the hospital parking lot. "Dad's in Germany, but he'll be in Hartford soon."

"He doesn't know?"

She shook her head.

"Good."

Honor arched a perfectly sculpted blond eyebrow. "What if the press finds out about this? 'Billionaire's son attempts suicide,' can you imagine what it would do to our family name?"'

"No one's going to find out," Logan responded blandly. "I need a drink."

Honor nearly went into hysterics. "This _is not_ the time to go out and—and act like you're a fucking twenty-year-old fraternity jack-ass!"

He didn't respond. The city outside his window was suddenly layered and interesting.

"What about Rory?"

He had startled her. Honor tried to conceal her surprise.

"Is that what this is about? You tried to kill yourself over _Rory Gilmore?"_

"No," He answered evenly. "I wasn't trying to . . . does she know?"

His sister's manicured hands gripped the steering wheel. "I don't think she _wants_to know. Logan, it's been over a year."

"What do you mean 'she doesn't want to know'? What the hell does that mean?"

"She's with someone."

"Oh. Do you know . . . "

"The guy? I haven't met him. He writes books or something, makes a lot of money in Europe. Apparently they live together or something. His name starts with a J, or a M, I don't know. I can't really remember."

"Jess."

"Oh, yeah, that's it. How'd you know?"

His tone was bored, listless. "Just a guess."

"Right."

They had arrived at Logan's apartment. Honor stopped the car.

"Leave it alone, brother."

"Thanks." He moved to get out of the car.

"Try not to shower. I'd really like to plan your next birthday party."

He nodded to his sister and began to walk away. He didn't see the red rim around her ice blue eyes as she drove around the corner in the direction of the airport.


	3. By Streetlight This Dark Night

**Disclaimer: **_I don't own any of this. Gilmore Girls belongs to Amy Sherman-Paladino and the folks at the WB (or the CW, whatever they call it these days). Title comes from the song of the same name by MCR._

**Rating: **_R, mostly for language._

**Date Starter: **_1-11-08_

**Date Finished:** _2-19-08_

**Summary:** _Logan goes through a near death experience while Rory commits to a serious relationship with Jess. Post season finale. _

**A/N: **_This is the last Logan-oriented chapter. Kind of like the end of the intro. I know the Lit readers probably aren't interested in this story whatsoever but __I really do appreciate your comments and reviews._

**Chapter Three: By Streetlight This Dark Night**

The apartment was bluish and blindly familiar to him, windows reaching from floor to ceiling, their faces dappled with raindrops that slid and collected and ran together down its smooth Californian surface. The heart of San Francisco was windy and faceless with forced gaiety and times of former-cool. The counter-culture died years ago, Kerouac never took to the place much and even Anne Rice vacated after her daughter died. There were a lot of patterns to this city.

_Attempted suicide,_ he mused, _another product of the promised Golden Gate? Give me a fuckin' break._

All the greats had made it and traded it here, art and dope and religion and big-business money fuckers with Brook's Brothers suites and wing-tipped shoes. Why fight something when you haven't got an alternative plan. It was the kind of thing Rory would approve of.

He drew out a sheet of paper from the stack on his desk, lots of little blue lines with strict red margins and ink spilling from pens while he wrote out the options, his solutions.

_Number one,_ the desk lamp golden and unwavering. _Contact Rory Gilmore._

* * *

The news hit the papers a few days later but by then he was out of San Francisco and on a plane to Connecticut by orders of his father. He'd left word with Candice that he was going out of town for a while and to check up on his apartment, if it wasn't too much trouble. She had agreed.

Going back east was like stepping back into time. Logan watched as the ground went from harsh orange deserts to soft treetops and eventually clean blankets of snow. He felt twenty-two and twenty-five all at once, aware of the differences but still swamped with memory.

He'd gone on many flights like this over the last few years. Returning from Illinois and Nebraska and England and Texas and every other godforsaken place he'd been shoved on. Most of the jobs had consisted of smoothing over ventures that Mitchum saw as low priority. Wasn't it convenient to have your own son as your errand boy? Forever enslaved by honor and duty and appearances. You walk your Ivy covered halls and find a smart girl with good bone structure and some this-way-that-way major and you buy her pearls and go sailing and then you go to work in the same place and do the same thing that your family has done for years. And secretly, honestly, you realize that you're no different from the crew-cut high school grads that work their fathers logging business or tire store or the debaters that join the family firm, the third generation med students that join the orthopedic practice—

The father is the mold for the son. Eventually we all become each other.

* * *

Back in Hartford, old times falling out of style. All the intrigue from his college days had mostly dissipated. Everything around him felt old and preserved past death. Tradition and finery and class. California felt light-years ahead of the Yankee's and their centuries-old practices.

He killed the engine of his German sports car and locked it, an over-the-shoulder habit. It was unnecessary but as far as habits went he couldn't complain. It didn't matter. This section of Hartford hadn't seen crime in over twenty years.

A maid answered the door. He didn't know her by name from any previous encounter; a fact that didn't prove unusual when one considered the fact that Emily Gilmore was rarely satisfied with her family members, let alone her hired help.

"I'm here to see Richard, I mean Mr. Gilmore. He shouldn't be expecting me."

"Mr. Gilmore is in his study, I'll show you." She had a kind Hispanic face, her brown eyes were heavy and her hair was streaked with steely gray.

He nodded to her even though her help wasn't needed.

Richard's door was open, meaning he wasn't up to potentially life-shattering business deals. Logan took this as a good omen.

"Mr. Gilmore, you have a visitor." What was that accent? Whether it was Puerto Rican or Columbian he couldn't tell. He'd never been one for languages.

He saw Richard look up from his newspaper. _Damn,_ Logan swore, _couldn't he at least be doing something boring so he'd look a bit more cheerful to see me? _

"Logan Huntzburger, to what do I owe this surprise." He took off his reading glasses and folded his newspaper neatly in half and then into fourths.

"Do you mind if I . . . ?" He made a motion towards the empty chair in front of the older man's work desk.

"Take a seat."

Logan nodded and obliged. The older man leaned forward with his hands pressed together in a thoughtful, contemplative manner. Held like a steeple, when you thought about it.

Richard sat in relative silence while Logan gathered his thoughts and decided how he would begin this potentially painful conversation.

"Thank you for seeing me." It always helped to start off polite. He may have been a stereotypically unstable businessman, but at least he remembered his manners.

"Oh, it's no trouble. Actually, I'm quite curious as to why you've stopped by. Of course, in light of recent events . . ." He wasn't sure if Richard was referencing to Rory's decline of his proposal almost two years ago or if the older man had heard about his so called suicide attempt. Could the news have reached that far so quickly? It seemed somewhat unlikely but not out of the realm of possibility.

Logan nodded. "I was in a bit of an accident recently."

"Emily mentioned it to me, some sort of drowning incident, wasn't it?"

He was immensely grateful for Richards dignified wording. It would of sounded terribly stupid to verbally admit that he had walked off a bank of rocks into the San Francisco bay.

'Yes. That's actually why I'm here. Not entirely, but, I was wondering if you could perhaps put me in contact . . . " He trailed off.

"Ah, I see where this is going."

"If you don't want to give me her number then that's your call, I suppose," Logan stared down at his lap, not wanting to make eye contact.

"It's not what _I_ approve of, Logan. It's what Rory approves of. She's gone through a change in her life recently."

"I know that she's seeing someone else, that's not why I'm trying to contact her."

"I will call Rory myself and ask her if she wishes to see you. If so, then I will contact you." The old man was playing fare. Logan couldn't find it in him to complain.

"All right. Here's a number where you can reach me." He scribbled down his cell number and handed it to Richard.

"Thanks Mr. Gilmore."

Richard had already gone back to his newspaper, a musing frown etched across his face.

He gave a noncommittal _hmm_ in reply.

* * *

**A/N:** _Not terribly eventful but there will be a bit more conflict in chapter four. All major characters will come into play, Logan, Rory, Jess, etc. Reviews are greatly appreciated._


	4. A Séance Down Below

**Disclaimer: **_I don't own any of this. Gilmore Girls belongs to Amy Sherman-Paladino and the folks at the WB (or the CW, whatever they call it these days). Title comes from the song of the same name by MCR._

**Rating: **_R, mostly for language._

**Date Started: **_2-19-08_

**Date Finished: **_3-22-08_

**Summary:** _Logan goes through a near death experience while Rory commits to a serious relationship with Jess. Set two years after series finale._

**A/N:** _A few of you mentioned that you wanted to see more Lit, so here it is. If you guys would like to see anything in particular in this story just drop me a line. This fic has more flexibility than my other story, Pulse, so I'm fairly open to suggestions. Reviews are always appreciated._

**Chapter Four: A Séance Down Below**

She could hear the shower running and was unsurprised to find the bathroom light turned off. Jess had left the door open; she took this as an invitation.

Rory leaned against the smooth tile with the shower curtain slightly parted. Moisture collected on her cheeks and the tip of her nose while Jess ran soapsuds over the planes and slopes of his exposed body. He showed no reaction to her obvious scrutiny.

"You shower in the dark." His golden eyes flicked to hers as he stood under the spray of water.

"Yes," Jess replied evenly, his voice like red-ribboned spice. "It's relaxing."

"Uh huh."

He gave her a look. "You waiting for a formal invite?"

"Well, as much as I know I'd enjoy it, I can't." She was half in half out of the shower. The side of her T-shirt was completely soaked. She was teasing him.

He began to lather shampoo in his pitch colored hair. "Reason being?"

"I have an appointment in two hours." She answered coyly.

Jess scoffed. "Two hours? You underestimate me, Gilmore."

The faint, rosy light hid her blush. "You? No. My self control? Yes."

He smirked and stepped back slightly to allow her room to join him. She let water soak into her lips, her hair, her skin. Jess began to remove her—technically his—clothes, disguarding the pair of boxers that she had slipped on earlier that morning.

Jess kissed the soft curve of her breast with her head tilted into the spray of water. She ran her fingers through his thick, water heavy hair, her nails lightly scraping his scalp.

She leaned against the tiled wall for support. "When I say two hours, I really mean an hour-and-a-half."

He slipped his leg between hers. "Then let's get busy, shall we?"

* * *

Rory shouldered her handbag more securely as she crossed thirty-seventh on her way to a little coffee shop on the corner of Hudson and Monroe. She had gotten a surprising call from her grandfather a few days before; Richard acting as a go between delivering messages to two separate haves of a estranged couple.

Her black jeans were tight on her calves; the skinny, straight-leg cut made her look fashionable without being obvious. She mentally scolded herself for wearing her canary yellow pumps. They were Cute Shoes, the kind you wore when you knew you'd be sitting down or making few movements. She should have gone with the flats. At least her feet would survive the encounter.

She hadn't told Jess whom she was seeing. It wasn't that she wanted to hide it from him, that wasn't the case at all. In all actuality she was planning on giving a detailed account of her and Logan's interaction as soon as she got home. She hadn't told Jess because she knew he wouldn't like the idea on principal but that he'd let her go anyway because he trusted her but it would still bother him and he wouldn't say anything about it. She had given a great deal of thought about the situation. Her plan was further vilified when her grandfather confessed that Logan had appeared to be in a stereotypical rut, that he was going through a What Does It All Mean phase that numerous men experienced at his age. Rory was somewhat grateful that Jess had already seen the front and back of that phase and had moved on to Just Playing it Cool.

She checked the address on the scrap of paper she held and looked up at the sign above the small establishment, The Wired Scholar. Well, she thought, at least the location looked promising.

"You _what?_"

"I, uh, I fell into the San Francisco Bay."

Rory's eyes were the size of sauce bowls. "How does anyone just _fall_ into the San Francisco Bay?" She asked incredulously.

Logan remained impassive. "Keep your voice down."

She leaned back in her chair. "Sorry." He nodded.

"It was kind of on purpose and kind of an accident."

Her arms were crossed firmly over her chest. "Oh? So drowning was kind of a suicide thing and kind of a oops?"

"Look, Rory, I still don't know how to explain it, ok?"

She massaged her closed eyelids. "Oh God, you're having one of those moments, aren't you? One of those things where you go and talk to all your ex's so you can find out what you're doing wrong with your life."

Logan stared into his cup of coffee.

Her posture stiffened. "Well if we're playing _High Fidelity_ here then I want to be the first-girlfriend. I'm so not a Katherine Zeta Jones."

"Richard tells me that you're in a new relationship, or should I say revisiting an _old _relationship?"

Rory uncrossed her arms. "I'd call it new. Our relationship is completely different from before."

"Do you find it more rewarding, vicariously experiencing the success of someone else? It's kind of hard to miss writer boy's books all over the place."

"_Will you shut up about Jess,"_ she hissed, trying to quiet herself.

Logan held up his hands in surrender. "Alright, I cave. I didn't ask to meet you to swap gossip about our love lives." She took a long drink from her coffee cup; he continued. "Why didn't you want to marry me?"

She seemed unsurprised by the question. "Do you want the long answer or the short one?"

Rory didn't wait for him to respond. "I decided that if I was going to be playing Kay Adams to somebody's Michael Coreleone that I was going to do it right and I was going to do it with someone who was actually Sicilian. Get it Logan?"

"Not really."

When she tried to further explain she softened her tone of voice from the harshness she'd displayed before. "I didn't want to go to dinner parties and wear pearl earrings and parade myself around like Jackie Kennedy. Why should I pull a Katherine Graham and marry someone who's going to cheat on me on business trips and expect me to stay married? I don't want to have tea parties for the DAR and wear my hair like a real-estate agent!"

She gave him an apologetic look. "It wasn't you I didn't want to marry, it was your life."

Logan's face was an emotionless mask. It wasn't like he could complain; he was the one who had opened their oozing can of worms.

"So, can Jess give you the life you want?"

"Jess understands me, probably better than I understand myself. It's something that's taken me nearly six years to accept."

"I'll take that as a yes . . . "

Rory shrugged, tucked her hair behind her ear, and downed the rest of her coffee.

"You know Logan I really need to go," She began to gather her things.

"So that's it? You go back to your boyfriend like none of this ever happened and—"

"But it _did_ happen, that's the point. You tried to drown yourself! And trying to play house with your ex girlfriend's isn't going to make you any better. You _were_ Logan Huntzburger, _the_ Logan Huntzburger. Just not so much anymore."

She cleared out, leaving her ex-boyfriend sputtering for air in the wake of her perfume.


	5. There're things that I have done

**Title: **_This is How I Disappear_

**Rating: **_R_

**Date Started: **_2-19-08_

**Date Finished: **_5-4-08_

**Disclaimer: **_I don't own any of this. Gilmore Girls belongs to Amy Sherman-Paladino and the folks at the WB (or the CW, whatever they call it these days). Title comes from the song of the same name by MCR._

**Summary:** _Logan goes through a near death experience while Rory commits to a serious relationship with Jess. Set two years after series finale._

**A/N: **_Now we get to find out what the "change in Rory's life" actually is. This chapter had quite a bit of plot advancement. Reviews are always appreciated._

**Chapter Five: There're things that I have done**

_You were . . ._

Logan faced the floor-to-ceiling windows that took up a solid wall of his hotel room. The tab was covered, courtesy of the Huntzburger family fortune. Rolls of Mitchum's millions had gone into PR for Logan's actions, covering up what used to be the crown jewel of the Huntzburger family. Tilting the glass of scotch until the bottom made color-works with the floor lamp, Logan downed what was left of the mini-bar. Manhattan screeched and sloshed outside his window; he didn't notice.

_You WERE Logan Huntzburger . . . _

Dr. Blanchard had called, once, twice, three times. Each message took up space on his voice mail and Logan couldn't be bothered with actually listening to the messages. Once he got through the first one he punched seven, deleting what was saved on his phone. Calls had been made to book weekly sessions with a psychologist out in California. Dr. B was convinced that if Logan put some effort into "rediscovering himself" his bout of "suicidal attention-seeking" would pan out.

_THE Logan Huntzburger . . ._

Shera and Mitchum didn't want him flying out so soon. It had less to do with concern for his well being as it did with damage control. Honor had called, her tone sounding more stable this time with news from LA. All his friends, names and fake faces with gossip mouths and plastic bodies; they had all expressed "concern" and hope for his "recovery."

_Recovery?_ His mind spun like carousel of warped metallic racehorses. _Recover from what? Myself?_

Shera had called around to all the different medical schools looking for a good shrink. Logan fought the urge to find his mothers actions offensive. He knew she was doing it for his sake, at least seventy percent for his sake, but it was a majority and he had always blended well with stereotypes.

_Just not anymore._

--

Jess came home to the smell of apple pie.

He dropped his bag in the chair by the front door, discarding his papers that he had carried on the his desk in the study, and making his way to the kitchen where he could hear the sound of Rory's heels on the hard wood flooring.

He caught the scent of baking, cinnamon and freshly cut Granny Smith apples, the faint ding of a timer.

Angling his body against the doorjamb, Jess watched Rory bustle around the kitchen. She was enthralled to the point of obliviousness.

"How's it going Suzie homemaker."

Rory spun around to face him, an apron tied to her waist. "I didn't hear you come in."

"Is this what you've been doing all afternoon?"

"No," she blushed. "I got home about an hour ago. Things at the paper were pretty slow, I turned my article in early."

He nodded, trying to hide the bemused expression that would have sparked a question. Jess pushed up his sleeves and went to help Rory with the potatoes. She was having trouble peeling.

"You don't have to help. I don't mind."

"Rory," he shook his head, watching her. "Drop the act, Gilmore. I've never seen a Stepford girl look so guilty."

She tugged nervously at the hem of her yellow argyle sweater. "I'm not a nice person."

"How do you figure that?" He toyed with a lock of her curling chestnut hair.

She moved to the table. "Sit down, I how coffee, tea, whatever you want."

Jess rolled his eyes, pulling her into his lap in one of the dark-wood kitchen chairs. "What is up with you today? It's like you're trying to play Mrs. Peter Keating or something."

He could see chicken Parmesan cooking in the oven. Garlic mashed potatoes and black-eyed peas on the stove.

His voice had an indescribable soothing effect on her nerves. "What did you do, Rory?"

"I talked to Logan."

He had to choke back a shot of laughter. "That's it?" He asked incredulously.

"He asked to meet me for coffee, to talk. So I went. Logan tried to commit suicide. He jumped into freezing water, alone, in the San Francisco Bay. He didn't tell me all of that per se; I read it in the paper. He just wanted to know why I didn't want to marry him."

Jess toyed with her belt loops, listening. "Do you think he did it because he wasn't over you?"

Rory shook her head. "No," her yellow heels made a muffled _thump_ as they fell to the floor. "I think he liked the idea of being with me more than he actually liked the process."

"You could be right," Jess said.

"He asked about you."

"Why on earth would he want to know about me?" Jess deadpanned.

"He mentioned you. He said he'd seen your books everywhere." Rory's cheek was pressed against his slate-gray button down.

Her toenails were a bright red, the color of cherries. "Doesn't sound like a false statement." He said.

She held his hand. "He said he wanted to see me to ask why I didn't want to marry him, but I don't believe that."

"Why?"

"Because," Rory held up her hand to inspect her ring, "I was wearing this the whole time and he didn't even notice"

--

"I made you an appointment," Shera said, jotting notes in her planner. "It's with Von Mabel, they say she's very good. She went to medical school at Princeton."

"That's nice."

"She's young, too. I thought that might be easier for you."

"I guess."

"Why don't I give you the time and address . . . "

Despite his better judgment, Logan wrote down the information his mother gave him on hotel stationary. It was only eleven and all the bottles in his mini bar were empty. He tried not to think about Rory.

" . . . at four-thirty. Please try to keep an open mind. If you don't like it after a few visits you don't have to go, but please just try . . . "

Logan's mind wandered. _Von Mabel_, he mused, _is that German? Dutch? Polish?_ He'd never been all that good with languages. _Maybe she'll have broad shoulders and thick ankles._

" . . . got to go, your father just got home. I'll tell him you're all right. When will you be back? I need to know for dinner."

"Tomorrow, I'll be back tomorrow."

She rang off.

_They're probably fucking right now_, Logan entered the appointment into the planner on his phone. _She's probably going to have lots of dark haired Italian babies and write obituaries in some small town paper_, he saved the number of Von Mabel's office. _She probably gives him blow-jobs every morning before he goes off to write in café's and talk about politics_, he tossed his phone in the chair on top of his rumpled clothes.

Logan turned off the light and stared into the darkness. _She probably doesn't love me anymore._

--

_­_**A/N: **_Well Lits, I hope you enjoyed that. Reviews are always appreciated._


	6. You Never Should Ever Know

**Title: **_This is How I Disappear_

**Rating: **_R, mostly for language._

**Date Started: **_5-4-08_

**Date Finished: **_6-2-08_

**Disclaimer: **_I don't own any of this. Gilmore Girls belongs to Amy Sherman-Paladino and the folks at the WB (or the CW, whatever they call it these days). Title comes from the song of the same name by MCR._

**Summary:** _Logan goes through a near death experience while Rory commits to a serious relationship with Jess. Set two years after series finale._

**A/N: **_I have the next few chapter of this story written and I think I'll be able to finish it sooner than I'd planned. Enjoy the chapter._

**Chapter Six: You Never Should Ever Know**

Von Mabel's waiting area was clean and impersonal. Most of the magazines spread out on the table were directed towards women. Worn copies of _O Magazine_ and _Good Housekeeping_ were stacked neatly on wooden end tables that smelled like Pledge and fresh laundry. A flat screen TV was playing on the far side of the room, it's sound so low that Logan had to strain to make out the report of the newsgirl on the screen. It was economy talk. He turned away, uninterested.

He didn't look at the few other patients in the reception area. He didn't want to be seen. As far as Logan knew no one in the Huntzburger family had shown signs of mental illness. _Guess I'm the first_, he thought, slightly bitter.

The receptionist called his name twice. He hadn't heard her right away. She was the kind of women that didn't have any real nationality. Light brown hair, untanned skin, brown eyes. The features of her face registered as a blur. She was so general she could have been a mirage.

Walking down the hallway to Von Mabel's office was like taking a pause before appearing on stage. He imagined that dancers must feel as he did: apprehensive, trained, expectant but easily thrown. He allowed himself to be led into the room and introduced, his sight shifting like a filter for a camera lens.

Dr. Mabel reached over her desk to shake his hand. She was the kind of white, surgical woman that he'd always shied away from. She was colorless in the sense that her ashen blond hair and gray eyes blended into her skin, her expression plastered and smooth like a soulless mask. Her thin, sloping shoulders stood sharply against the backdrop of her navy office. He didn't find the blue walls calming whatsoever. The deepness and suffocating presence of the rooms flat corners threw him back to the west coast, floundering in the sea while his family and relations remained peacefully oblivious.

"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Huntzburger. You can take a seat."

Her sweater was the color of charcoal, her arms and joints languid like the twisted roots of a yew tree. "Thanks," he mumbled.

She scribbled something on a yellow legal pad, making soft, scratching sounds with her pen. The paper looked out of place in the subdued office, something obscene and degenerate in its gay colors and strict margins.

"Your physician faxed some of your papers over from California but I'd rather have you tell me about your incident yourself, if you don't mind."

Logan swallowed. "I had a drowning accident. It's sort of complicated. Dr. Blanchard told me that I'd been out of it for an hour or so until my heart picked up again."

"You were dead for an hour?"

"Basically."

She placed her pen on the desk but didn't cap it. "That's actually not as unusual as it sounds. There are a variety of instances where a patient may be technically deceased but brought back shortly after. Some OD's sit up on the gurney with their face completely blue, sputtering and obviously alive. Patients who've been in a coma for years regain consciousness after a dose of Ambien, but only a rare few."

Heroin junkies and coma patients. _What a fucking group_, he thought.

"Dr. B's main concern was that I was trying to kill myself."

"Where you trying to kill yourself?"

The eternal question. "I didn't really . . . plan to."

Dr. Mabel's metallic eyes shone like polished coins. "Meaning it was unplanned or you don't know?"

"I don't know."

She closed a file. "Tell me about yourself, Logan."

He felt uneasy in his char. "What do you want to know?"

She shrugged. "Anything. It doesn't much matter. What do you do, where did you grow up, where did you go to school, whatever you want to share."

"Why does that matter?"

"Because you're tense. You don't see any point in telling me what's bothering you, and the only way we're going to get past that is by building up some kind of rapport here."

He liked her frankness. It was the kind of trait that he valued in women. "Alright then."

--

"What are your parents like?"

It was the first question she'd asked in a great while. Mostly he'd been giving her a brief synopsis of his life. Dr. Mabel had remained silent throughout the proceedings.

"Excuse me?"

"Your parents. You've spoken about your sister and your grandfather and going to college and being a businessman . . . " She waited for him to pick up where she'd left off.

Logan watched Dr. Mabel with innate curiosity. She hadn't touched her hair or her face the entire time they'd spoken.

"I could spend a whole session explaining my relationship with my parents."

She held her pen above the eight consecutive pages that she'd filled through the course of their session. "Be my guest."

--

Wind cut across his face, tussled his hair, rumpled his clothes. Logan watched the path of a stray scrap of paper as it fluttered and disappeared, a disassociation of wholeness and form. A few scarce twigs crunched beneath his dress shoes. It was mid January. At the thought of that Logan realized that the holidays had already come and gone without his notice.

His hands were frozen in his pockets; he ducked into the closest coffee shop he could find.

There was a line for coffee, something that he was slightly grateful for. It gave him time to collect himself and get a better view of his surroundings. There was a bookstore attached to the coffee shop, the kind of place that carried more than bestsellers and cookbooks. He remembered Rory talking about the place years ago, gushing about the first edition they had that she coveted. He strolled in the next day and paid cash for it. The storeowner had been brokenhearted to see it go.

The stacks held more people than one would expect on a Thursday afternoon. Logan ordered a house blend and took it quickly, sitting in one of the overstuffed chairs that someone had abandoned.

A long line of people snaked through the shelves, people holding copies of the same hardback novel. Sales attendants scurried through the hushed collection of people, tugging on collars and looking bookish in glasses and frazzled hair.

Logan plucked a copy from a nearly empty stand, scanning the name and title.

The cover depicted the image of a half seen woman. The black backdrop mingled with her dark hair and sinuous lips. Her profile meshed with the blackness, making her appear like a grainy cut of film.

Towards the top of the cover in hand-stroked, lowercase letters he read: _the sleepers_. The name jumped out at him from the bottom, glaring and obvious and written on every page and on Rory's body and slanting across his self-esteem, _Jess Mariano_, jarring like a strike to the face but curling, seductive, alive and pulsing like a bruising rose.

Logan couldn't help himself. He joined the line of people eagerly waiting for an autograph.

--

**A/N:** _Reviews equal updates. I'd love to hear what you guys have to say._


	7. Who Walks Among the Famous Living Dead

**Title: **_This is How I Disappear_

**Rating: **_R, mostly for language._

**Date Written: **_6-9-08_

**Disclaimer: **_I don't own any of this. Gilmore Girls belongs to Amy Sherman-Paladino and the folks at the WB (or the CW, whatever they call it these days). Title comes from the song of the same name by MCR._

**Summary:** _Logan goes through a near death experience while Rory commits to a serious relationship with Jess. Set two years after series finale._

**A/N: **_There's more confrontation in this chapter than in the previous one, finally some Jess/Logan action. Reviews are always appreciated._

**Chapter Seven: Who Walks Among the Famous Living Dead**

The line grew the longer he stood. Most of the people waiting to get Mariano's autograph were young, intelligent-looking, a few older men and women of distinction that Logan knew from his society days, a worthy crowed. He flicked through the four hundred or so page novel while he waited, feeling the thickness of the paper and touching the black, definite ink. The summary on the book-jacket told Logan that the novel was about the devolution of human beings. The way in which it was stated implied that it was not science fiction, but philosophy.

He checked the author biography section at the back of the book, noting the picture and how Mariano looked somehow older than himself, but not in a physical sense. Logan knew he had aged since his college years; there were a few faint, slowly developing lines around his eyes and mouth, but he liked them. They gave definition to his face, which had always blended into his hair slightly, the blond mixing with his sandy complexion. But Jess Mariano looked adult in a manner that Logan couldn't pin; his skin was smooth and eerily flawless. The picture looked more like a painting.

Logan could see him now, sitting at a table and signing books one after another, like taking hits or drags or punches. He was out of earshot; Mariano was talking quietly with a woman that had come to see him. He wore a thoughtful expression; serious in a way that Logan had never been able to pull off.

As he got closer he wondered what he would say to Jess. He hadn't thought that far ahead. Logan gave a slight pang when he thought about what Von would say if she knew he was here. He kept his head down so he wouldn't be recognized by anyone that may have known him. Bored, he turned to the front of the book. _If I'm buying this_, he thought, _I might as well read it._

_For Rory._

The dedication page. A part of him cringed, but he had been expecting that.

_How is this for an explanation?_

Logan guessed that he was referencing some question that she had posed him. He turned the page hastily and was faced with the beginnings of text.

_The human heart beats just over two point five billion times in an average lifespan. Each time, it pumps blood through nearly six feet of the circulatory system. These kinds of statistics can only be proven through indirect encounters._

_In most zoological and anatomical circles, skin is regarded as the largest functioning organ in the integumentary system. It protects the body from pathogens and covers the underlying muscular and skeletal systems. The skin is divided into three main layers and over five sublayers._

_It is believed that there are over eight hundred cannibals in the United States alone. Many skeptics debate the validity of this figure; however, it is accepted in most factual cases._

The prologue ended abruptly. Logan wondered if he was reading a novel or a medical folio.

He skimmed through the next five pages, paying more attention to the dialogue than anything else. He didn't usually read if he could help it.

The woman in front of him left the table and very suddenly Logan was faced with Jess, finally, infuriatingly, inescapably. There was a moment in which Jess looked up and his eyes recognized the man who stood before him. He made a faint change of expression from surprised to slightly amused. Jess leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, watching silently as Logan placed the book in front of him.

"Can I help you?" Jess said, his voice cool and professional to a sterile, chiseled point. Logan noted that he wore dark clothing; jeans with a black button-down and matching blazer, like he was an artist or a Mafia chief or something. His hair curled in a way that was completely natural and slightly European.

"Yes," Logan tried to match his cool tone, "by signing this."

Wordlessly, Jess opened the book to the inside cover and signed his sharp, script-like signature, writing something else very quickly. He did this all without looking, watching Logan's face. Jess shut the cover of the book and slid it over the table.

He took it silently, stopping at the register before exiting the store.

--

It was colder than before. He wished that he'd brought gloves; he'd already dug through his pockets in search of his only pair, and turned up with nothing. Normally Logan would have shoved his hands into the pockets of his corduroys but he was busy reading.

The novel started out with a multitude of characters until they were written off, like water trickling from a rapidly narrowing funnel. He supposed it symbolized the reverse effect of evolution, that is, beginning with many and ending with one.

A few passages horrified him, but only in a detached, corner-of-the-mind sort of way. Everything that Mariano wrote about seemed to be true to some extent. Perhaps a little dramatized to fit the realm of fiction, but the steady destruction of minority struck Logan as frighteningly realistic. Wasn't he himself a product of that destruction? In a small, angry tingling of shamefulness, Logan realized that he was merely at a tangent with the actual philosophical principles that the book amplified. He lacked the perspective to fully understand.

He'd been staring at the same page for some time now. Folding the corner of the page down, Logan closed the novel and looked up from the park bench he'd been occupying for the last hour or so.

Jess faced him, standing in the middle of the street wearing some kind of leather jacket that Logan had seen on bikers and tough guys, the kind of thing that his Ivy League status would never exemplify. But Jess had that same unnamable, almost threatening confidence that he'd displayed before, a superiority that didn't come from wealth.

He had gloves, Logan noted, the kind with the ends cut off, meant for driving and holding handlebars at high speeds. There was a cigarette perched perilously on the shell of his ear, unlit.

The air held a light dusting of snow. Cold, unforgiving, northern January snow. That kind that froze bodies and isolated families in their homes for weeks.

Jess sat down next to him on the bench, seemingly unaffected by his proximity. After a few moments of silence, he spoke.

"What are you still doing here?"

Logan looked out at the deserted street. "I wanted to talk to you."

Jess leaned back and stretched his long legs out, crossing the ankle of one over the knee of the other. "Go ahead, I'm sitting right here." He was fine and swarthy despite the cold, a predator, almost vampiric in his mask-like youthfulness.

"I talked with Rory."

"She told me. Apparently you missed an important detail."

Logan turned to glance at Jess, who took no notice of him.

"And what was that?"

A slight, knowing smirk graced his features. He held up his left hand and made a movement with it. "Her ring."

A part of him cringed, but he had been expecting that. "So you asked Rory—"

"Yes." He cut him off.

Logan pressed his lips together so they wouldn't chafe from the cold. "I guess I sort of always knew."

"Knew what?" Jess asked thoughtfully.

He shrugged. "That I would loose her to you."

Jess reached for his cigarette, dug for his lighter, lighted it and took a few drags. "From the sound of it," he said after a long moment, "you lost her long before I got her back."

"How would you know," he fired back. But it was empty, like he didn't really mean it.

"I wouldn't," Jess said. "But it's easy. You're so miserable that you don't bother hiding it."

A long moment of silence passed.

Jess leaned his head back against the bench and exhaled, smoke curling and mingling with the snow. "So it's silent talking that you had in mind?" He turned his head quickly to look at Logan and saw the hardback novel in his lap. "Have you been reading it?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"It's like . . . " he started. "It's like I'm reading some sort of doomsday scenario."

"It's not a scenario," Jess corrected, "it's actually happening. In the world. Here. Now. On this fucking bench."

From his silence Jess assumed that Logan needed him to elaborate. "People like you," he said tonelessly, "are the reason that the world is reversing. You're a collective. You base your life off of majorities and you submit to lies and false ideals."

Logan tensed next to him. Jess saw this but didn't see it as important. "You probably don't even know why you're so miserable, or why you tried to kill yourself, do you/?" He shook his head, knowing, belittling. "When was the last time you actually did something because it was what you wanted?"

"I—"

"Don't answer," Jess said. "It was a rhetorical question."

The snow was falling more thickly now. "But there it is again," Jess admitted ruefully. "I said people _like_ you, implying a group, a type. It negates your individuality."

"What do you think I am?" Logan asked.

Jess threw his cigarette on the ground, watching it smolder in the cold, wet snow. "You're one of those guys who's just smart enough to realize they're the dumbest one in the room. And you hate it."

Logan moved violently, as if to hit him, to strike him across the face. Jess rose quickly and resumed his former stance, watching Logan with a detached annoyance while he stood across from him, two parallel figures.

"You just proved my point, not that it matters much."

"I think I hate you," Logan said. "But not entirely because of who you are. You have what I want and I despise you for it"

Jess nodded. "You covet. But I could care less about hatred," he explained. "What you're feeling isn't a lasting emotion. Nothing you're feeling right now is a developed attitude."

He brushed the snow from his leather jacket, shaking it off. "You're descending into yourself," he said, his voice soft and contemplative. "I did seven years ago. Now it's your turn."

Logan couldn't bring himself to watch him walk away.

--

**A/N:** _Most of the facts in Jess's prologue are correct, except the statistic on cannibals. I based that off an estimated number in Germany. I imagine that the numbers in the US would be slightly different. Many of you said that Jess's character acted too cool when it came to Logan, I think this chapter is an accurate depiction of how he's feeling. I'd love to hear your thoughts and comments :D_


	8. Drown all the Boys and Girls

**Title:** _This is How I Disappear_

**Rating:** _R, mostly for language_

**Date Started**: _6-10-08_

**Date Finished: **_6-19-08_

**Disclaimer:**_I don't own any of this. Gilmore Girls belongs to Amy Sherman-Paladino and the folks at the WB (or the CW, whatever they call it these days). Title comes from the song of the same name by MCR._

**Summary:** _Logan goes through a near death experience while Rory commits to a serious relationship with Jess. Post-season finale._

**A/N: **_Many of you wanted to see Logan getting his life together, and I can honestly tell you that I'm not completely heartless. Enjoy._

**Chapter Eight: Drown all the boys and girls inside your bed.**

For the second time that week Logan found himself in the waiting room at Von Mabel's office. He had a good ten minutes before his session, a void of time to waist before he had to talk about himself and share his feelings. He fiddled with the fabric-covered arm of the chair, watching the other patients and eyeing the blue walls.

Digging through the neat pocket of his gray slacks, Logan felt a compressed square of paper brush his fingertips.

It was the list he had composed a few weeks prior. After being run through the wash he could barely pry the pieces apart, but he managed. The words had almost been washed away; he'd written them in pen. There were only two things on the page: _contact Rory Gilmore_, which he had done, and, _fix life. _

_Well,_ Logan thought, _at least I'm halfway there._

--

"I have something I want to talk about."

Dr. Mabel looked up from the paper on which she was scribbling, but continued to write. The gesture unnerved him; he'd seen Jess do the same thing the day before.

He held out the crumpled paper that he'd inspected before his session. She set her pen down and leaned back in her chair.

"What would you like to share?"

"It's a list," he explained, "I made it the night before I came back east. There are only two things on here, but I've only done one of them."

"Would you mind showing it to me?"

Logan handed it over and watched Von Mabel intently. She looked slightly more interested at the sight of Rory's name.

"Rory Gilmore," she looked up to meet his gaze. "Do you want to talk about Rory?"

He shrugged. "Why not, it can't hurt right?" Von noted that he was moving in a jerky, non-linear way. She discreetly tucked the paper into Logan's file.

"Rory is my ex-girlfriend. We dated for three years; we were both in college at the time. My parents didn't like her all that much but that's because her mother had her when she was sixteen. It was a big deal because they're one of those old, wealthy families also. You know what I'm talking about. You grew up the same way."

"Yes," Dr. Mabel answered. "I did."

"I asked Rory to marry me and she said no," he said humorlessly. "It shouldn't have surprised me, not as much as it did. It always felt like we were separated by some thin, barely visible barrier. I wanted to be with her, but I didn't understand her, not completely. It was almost like there was some big, cosmic joke that I wasn't getting. That's the impression I got."

"How long ago were you together?"

His shoulders contracted and relaxed, a shrug. "It was over a year ago. But the thing that bothers me about it now is that she's getting married. But that's not why I wanted to see her. See, Rory's very logical. She always had a plan for herself and she knew what she wanted to do, and I was always slightly envious of that. My plan was chosen by my family, not me. But that's beside the point."

"Did you think that Rory would be able to help you after your accident?"

He liked that she said 'accident' instead of 'suicide attempt'. "Yeah, I honestly did. But what would she have been able to do? Hold my hand while I quit my job and abandoned my life?"

Von moved in her chair. "You wanted a life-line, something to pull you out of your feelings of depression. You remembered your life with Rory as a happy time and you wanted to recapture that." She explained simply.

"You're more right than you know," Logan admitted. "There was this one time, it was when Rory and I had been together for a year or something, and I had been out of town and I came home early to see her. Apparently she saw my absence as a good time to see her 'friend' from out of town. Anyways, he turned out to be her ex-boyfriend, and, coincidentally, the same guy she's marrying."

"Does Rory's marriage bother you?" Her voice was smooth and toneless, like a recording, the pitch of her voice specified to pacify a savage beast. He felt his heartbeat rise, not out of anger, but frustration. Logan was disgusted with detachment. It was the stance of Jess Mariano and his father and now his shrink.

"Yes," he said tensely, growing closed-lipped.

Von took notice of his change in demeanor. "Logan," she started, "do you think you're angry with Rory because she's marrying her ex-boyfriend, or because she's getting married at all?"

He felt like the blue walls were pressing down on his lungs. "Because, fuck, she's marrying _Jess_." He pronounced his name with disgust. "I don't know why I'm mad at her. I thought I needed Rory's help because I was still in love with her."

Dr. Mabel softened a bit. "Are you still in love with Rory?"

"No," he said quietly. "I mean, I don't even . . . I didn't think love was debatable. I thought it was just something you're suppose to know when it happens."

She appraised him with a kinder expression. "Love is possibly the most complicated experience that humans encounter. It's perfectly reasonable for you to not understand what you're going through."

His mouth felt dry as the carpet. Normally he would have asked for a drink or something to loosen himself up, but he didn't think it prudent to request alcohol at a therapy session.

"It depends on what you consider love," Von explained. "There's been a debate for centuries. Love as an emotion or a verb?" She shrugged. "What do you think, Logan?"

"Most people say they're in love, but I usually don't think they are," he admitted. "I don't think Rory and I were in love."

She wore a curious expression. "Why do you feel that way?"

"I said it earlier," he answered, "we didn't understand each other. At least, I didn't understand her."

Logan was quickly becoming impatient. He was tired of Von's sudden interest in his love life. "Why do you even care about this?" He said crossly. "You went to fucking Princeton, why would you want to sit around all day and listen to rich people whine about problems that don't really matter?"

He could tell that he had startled her, if only a little. "Do you think your problems don't matter, Logan?"

"Stop," he rubbed his temples. "Why do you _do_ this?" He questioned, "Don't you get tired of it?"

"Sometimes," she answered, her pale mouth full and—for the first time—not seen by Logan as completely sexless.

"C'mon," he said, standing quickly. "Lets get out of here. This room is driving me crazy."

Von regarded him cautiously. "Alright, Mr. Huntzburger."

"Logan," he corrected, "Mr. Huntzburger is my dad."

--

"You didn't answer my question earlier," Logan said, calmer now that he was out of Dr. Mabel's office. They were sitting at a table in the back corner of a bar, both nursing a drink.

Von looked completely different out of her office. Her paleness and clean, platinum hair looked sensual and Nordic in the winter snow. She wore a white sweater with a navy pea coat, nautical and braced against the cold.

She shrugged, the sharp angle of her shoulders swift and geometrical. "I like what I do," she offered simply. "Some people do actually get better."

Logan snorted but hid it behind a cough.

She caught his actions but didn't comment. "Why do you do what you do, Mr. Huntzburger?"

Her gaze was one of steely gray. Von looked at him seriously, dissecting the structure of his face and his manner.

He looked down at his drink. "To appease my family. And because I've never imagined myself doing anything else."

"That can't be true," she reasoned.

Logan appraised her for a moment, perhaps a moment too long. "You're right. I'm lying."

"And?"

He tried not to feel embarrassed about what he was about to say. "I don't know, I guess I sort of wouldn't mind teaching."

She turned her head to the side. Logan decided to elaborate. 'Yeah, I've always been interested in epics. You know, _The Odyssey_, _The Epic of Gilgamesh_, _The Iliad_, _Beowulf_. One time I planned it out in my head, a whole English class devoted to ancient writings and the civilizations in which they were written."

"So why don't you?"

He looked up at her like she was the one who needed therapy. "Are you kidding? I'd have to go back to school and get my PhD. "

Von tossed him a shrewd look. "Am _I_ kidding? Logan, you've just told me what you'd rather be doing. It's obvious that you aren't happy with the way your life is now. And it's not like the situation is a question of money."

The way she said it made the situation sound logical, Logan felt himself crumbling at his hinges. "I," he started but didn't finish.

"Why did you jump into the water, Logan?"

And there it was, the crux of his rediscovery.

"Because I'm tired," he said, looking at Von and thinking that he would like to kiss her. "I'm exhausted."

--

The pair stood in front of the bar with their coats drawn against the wind. Logan looked at her while she fastened her navy buttons.

"You live alone?" He asked.

Von tucked some of her flaxen hair behind the shell of her ear. "Yes."

"Would you like to," he shifted his body weight from one foot to the other, "do you want to come home with me?"

Her face was calm, almost like she had expected him to say the words. She flipped the end of her white scarf over her shoulder. "No, thank you," Von said, she began to walk down the street. Turning slightly, she called out, "Goodnight, Mr. Huntzburger."

--

**A/N: **_Reviews are always appreciated._


	9. And If You Could Talk To Me

**Title: **_This is How I Disappear_

**Rating: **_R, mostly for language._

**Date Started: **_6-20-08_

**Date Finished: **_7-3-08_

**Disclaimer: **_I don't own any of this. Gilmore Girls belongs to Amy Sherman-Paladino and the folks at the WB (or the CW, whatever they call it these days). Title comes from the song of the same name by MCR._

**Summary:** _Logan goes through a near death experience while Rory commits to a serious relationship with Jess. Set two years after series finale._

**A/N: **_There will be one more chapter after this and then the epilogue. Enjoy._

**Chapter Nine: And If You Could Talk To Me**

Logan closed his cell phone with a definite snap, ending the call to his realtor in California. He'd sold his apartment and his car, ridding himself of most of his California ties with the exception of a few sentimental items and his essentials. Logan was having his few possessions that he wished to keep shipped to Connecticut. The process would take perhaps a week to finalize. In the mean time, he had some other business to attend to.

He had already sent a fax to Howard Doman, the executive who ran oversight of the Huntzburger Corporation, stating his resignation. Logan was fairly certain that word of this would reach his father by the end of the day so he continued to work, calling up a few schools for interviews and leaving a message at his lawyers office to go over the exact conditions of his trust fund, which he hadn't actually used. The fund opened to his use when he turned twenty-one but there hadn't been a time in Logan's life in which he'd needed to spend or invest his savings, he assumed that the time had finally arrived.

Shera had left early that morning to assist the planning of some event or another so that left Logan alone in the Huntzburger household, with the exception of the Russian-American maid, Matrona.

He was planning on breaking the news to his parents later that evening over dinner. Logan was grateful that his sister was in LA and wouldn't be able to witness the confrontation that was bound to ensue. He would be able to handle Shera, but Mitchum would be another matter entirely. Logan had always felt like he owed something to his father, a kind of debt that he wouldn't be able to repay no matter how many years he spent in his service or how much he tried to please the man. With the evening he was expecting outrage, accusations, excommunication at the least. He wasn't wrong.

--

Logan didn't even get a chance to break his news to his parents. Upon arrival Mitchum strode into the drawing room like a lion with a territorial issue. The maid hurried to take his coat but he was too intent on talking with his son to notice.

"What is this I hear about you resigning?"

Shera looked up from the bit of ash that clung to her cigarette, wearing a look of astoundment. "What?"

He took a long swallow from his drink and set it down on the surface of one of his mother's prized end tables. "What you heard is most likely true. I faxed it over to Howard this morning."

"For christsake—"

"Please, Dad," Logan started, but he was cut off.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Logan?" Mitchum's face had turned into a blotchy shade of eggplant.

"It doesn't matter what I'm dong because you don't have to worry about it. I've got a plan for myself, for once, I'm doing what I'd like to do instead of what I'm ordered."

"Insanity!" He spit out, well beyond frustrated. "I've spent years training you and grooming you to take over the company when I retire. You're an heir, you can't just abandon your position in this family—"

"I'm not 'abandoning' anything," Logan said evenly. If he had learned anything from his encounters with Jess and Von it was that clarity and disinterest were easier positions than those of impassioned rows or arguments. "I'm going back to school to get my PhD. You won't have to pay for anything, I can manage on my own."

"But Logan," he tried to argue, "there isn't anyone else that I can use as a replacement. There isn't enough time to find a substitute for when I'm planned to retire—"

"Bullshit," Logan replied. "There are plenty of men who are better suited for that job than myself, much more competent men than I can ever aspire to be. If I wasn't your son I never would have landed that position in the first place," he explained coolly. "Give it to Dorian Hemerling. He'd be perfect for it."

"Logan, be reasonable." Mitchum was clutching at straws, quickly loosing ground.

"I am," Logan said, paying no attention to the look of disgrace that both his parents wore.

--

Stepping out into the hall, Logan began to put some distance between himself and the Admissions Office. He answered his phone on the first ring.

"Huntzburger."

"Hello, It's Dr. Mabel." Her cool voice almost sounded like liquid silk. He felt a few muscles in his neck tighten at the sound of it.

"Oh, hey Von."

"I was hoping to catch you away from home. You see, I've just received a nasty phone call from your mother. She's cancelled your sessions with me."

His blonde eyebrows shot up. "Did she? I wasn't aware that she had the authority to do that."

"Technically she does," Von explained, "seeing as she's the one who paid for them."

"I've actually been meaning to talk with you about that," Logan said, "can we meet for lunch or something? I have another appointment to get to."

They made plans; afterwards Logan called the restaurant to arrange reservations. He hadn't taken a girl out in months, not since his rendezvous with Candice in San Francisco.

Starting the engine of his borrowed car, Logan drove with purpose, knowing precisely where his destination was.

--

Removing his hat, Logan spoke with the hostess and followed her to his table, holding his hands awkwardly by his sides. He'd gotten held up at his last interview and he wasn't surprised to see Von already seated. Taking the chair opposite her, he removed his kaki trenchcoat and unfastened the few buttons on his coal gray suit jacket. Loosening his ice-blue tie, he tugged at the starched, white collar of his shit and ordered a glass of water.

Von's hands were placed delicately in her lap, properly. After the waitress had disappeared Logan turned and regarded her thoughtfully.

"Thank you for meeting me," he began, formal and polite.

"It wasn't any trouble," she said, "my two o'clock appointment cancelled so I'm free for some time." Von unfolded her napkin and spread it across her lap with the clean fold facing her waist. "I believe we need to discuss the future of your therapy sessions."

The waitress brought Logan's water, placing it on the linen tablecloth carefully. He took a few slow gulps while Von squeezed lemon in her tea, adding artificial sweetener and leaving the teaspoon in the glass.

"I've done some thinking," Logan said, "and I feel like I've gained all that I can from our sessions."

Von seemed to expect this. "Is your decision based on the feelings of your family?"

"No," he answered. "I know I didn't see you for very long, but I think I've learned all I'll be able to."

"Many patients feel that way after a few sessions. But I must respect your decision, however you choose. If you ever wish to resume therapy I will be happy to comply."

He nodded and drank some more, his throat scratchy. He'd done so much talking in the past few days. "I think we should continue to see each other."

Von raised her pale yellow eyebrows questioningly, "On what terms?"

"As friends."

She laughed. It was a cool musical sound that rang like a clear bell. "You can't be serious, Mr. Huntzburger."

Logan diverted his eyes, miffed. "Why do you say that?"

"Because," she explained, "you don't really want to be my friend. I think it would be perfectly honest of me to say that you don't even like me."

"That's not true. I like you fine, but there are times when I . . . resent you."

Von drank from her glass of tea. "That's understandable. I see past your illusions and you dislike that, most of the time. There may come a point in your life where you'll seek that kind of companionship, but I don't think you actually want that at the moment."

He shrugged, attempting to let her words roll off his shoulders.

"We can remain in contact; you have my number. I'm curious to see if you progress on your own."

They placed their orders while the restaurant's other compatriots dined quietly.

"As a point of interest," Von said, "what are the real names of the people you told me about? Your ex-girlfriend and her fiancé."

Logan looked at her with an odd expression. "I used their real names."

She seemed a bit surprised by that. "Most people lie about that sort of thing. I can usually tell, but I thought I'd ask."

"I was talking about Rory Gilmore, do you know the Gilmores? I thought you might. And Jess Mariano."

"Oh," Von said, "that Jess."

"What? Do you know him, too?" Logan asked, annoyed. It was one thing for Rory to choose him, but it would be absolutely horrific if Von had done so as well.

"I've met him, yes. Wipe that look off your face. It was at a party some years ago, when he was still obscure. Mr. Mariano was, and still is, good friends with one of my old Professors, Regina Crawft. She taught a class on philosophy in literature, she was a fabulous teacher. He did a lecture in her class once and then I met him in person at one of Regina's parties. He's a good orator, which I found surprising because most people tell me he's rather quiet."

"He's a lot like you," Logan said, "concise, detached." _Cold_, he thought.

"Oh no," she corrected, "he's much too guarded."

Their food came, ending conversation for a few moments while they ate in relative silence. Logan hadn't been all that hungry but he was grateful for the steaming bowl of French onion soup that had been placed before him. He felt rejuvenated at the thought that Von didn't have a strong opinion on Jess, something that was oddly comforting to Logan.

They talked a bit more while waiting for the check, speaking of mostly unimportant things. As Logan was about to leave Von brought up something that had been on her mind during the course of their meal.

"Would you please call me once you get something finalized with graduate school?"

He looked at Von, at the slight curl to her Dutch boy haircut, her metallic eyes and sharp shoulders. "Of course," Logan answered, collecting his coat and hat, "You'll be the first to know."

--

**A/N:** _Reviews are always appreciated._


	10. Tell Me If It's So

**Title:** _This is How I Disappear_

**Rating:** _R, mostly for language_

**Date Started**: _8-4-08_

**Date Finished: **_8-10-08_

**Disclaimer: **_I don't own any of this. Gilmore Girls belongs to Amy Sherman-Paladino and the folks at the WB (or the CW, whatever they call it these days). Title comes from the song of the same name by MCR._

**Summary:** _Logan goes through a near death experience while Rory commits to a serious relationship with Jess. Post-season finale._

**A/N: **_This is the last official chapter. They'll be an epilogue, but apart from that, this is the end. I hope you have all enjoyed reading my story._

**Chapter Ten: Tell Me If It's So**

Logan held his coat tighter around his slender frame to shield himself from the blustery Massachusetts cold, dodging other students while he clutched an armful of books. He was on his way to the library to return a few volumes and to do a bit of work on the research paper for his history class on Mesopotamia and their early Sumerian writing systems. Logan breezed through to the first floor of the library, depositing some of his books in the return slot at the counter.

Many of the other Harvard students were bent over papers or scribbling notes, some chatting quietly. Logan settled his things into a discrete section of the library and sorted through the rough outline he'd made for his paper.

He heard a quiet rustle of clothes and looked up from his academic paraphernalia. "Von?"

She loosened her scarf and joined him at the table, "Hello, Mr. Huntzburger."

"How are you?" Logan asked, sorting his papers into a neat pile.

Von brushed some of her short hair behind her ear and removed her gloves. "I'm fine, thank you. I've just come from seeing your favorite person."

He arched one of his blonde eyebrows, "Who?"

"Jess Mariano," she answered casually, her silver eyes glinting in the winter light. "I've been writing a book on sociopaths. He's agreed to publish it."

"I didn't know that he worked in publishing," Logan said, "I thought he just wrote."

"Oh yes," Von explained, "He owns his own company."

Logan capped his pen and rubbed at a spot on the back of his neck. "What are you doing for dinner?" He asked, stuffing the folded pages of his outline into one of his books.

"I hadn't made any plans."

"Come over to my place. You haven't seen it yet. I'll made dinner, we'll talk, it'll be nice, I promise."

After the end of their therapy sessions Von and Logan had remained in contact. They would meet usually once a week, sometimes less. Logan planed each meeting meticulously. He always tried to appear pleasant, casual, normal. He didn't want Von to think that he was some kind of freak patient with a mental disorder.

"Alright," she submitted, "show the way."

Von stood, gloves in hand, and followed Logan out of the library and to his recently acquired silver Aston Martin. "You like spaghetti?" He asked, opening the door for her and letting her settle into the passenger seat.

"Yes," Von answered, fastening her seatbelt while Logan stuck the key in the ignition and started the engine.

"Good," he replied, "Because it's the only meal I know how to make."

--

Logan unlocked the door to his apartment and politely saw Von in, taking her coat and hanging it on the rack along with her pristine white scarf. "Take a look around," he offered, "write some notes. 'Patient adjusts to life. Shows signs of complacency.' "

She accepted his little joke with a faint smile, "I'm not your doctor anymore."

"You don't have to remind me," Logan mumbled. He made his way into the kitchen and began to assemble dinner.

Von took a moment to survey Logan's apartment, browsing his book collection unashamedly and inspecting the paintings that adorned his walls. She had never been one for art and the modern, abstract pieces that Logan had displayed were almost like an unconscious padding, a few touches that made his living space appear stylish instead of sterile.

She wandered into the kitchen, accepting the glass of white wine he offered her. Dry and faintly sweet. French markings on the bottle.

"Well you seem very apt in the kitchen," Von commented, sipping, taking a longer swallow than she had anticipated.

"It's just a ruse," he joked, "I'm really very unorthodox when it comes to cooking."

She drank quietly while Logan boiled noodles and chopped tomatoes for the sauce. He refilled her wineglass periodically, causing the number of drinks she'd consumed to blur into an indistinguishable menagerie of chilled, burning alcohol. After fifteen minutes of steady consumption she abandoned her glass and rummaged around for another, filling it with icy tap water.

They sat at Logan's kitchen table, the clean glass top immaculate, completely bare of scratches or fingerprints. Von blinked, pushed her hair away from her face, her pink lips rose-bitten from the cold.

"How do you really know Jess Mariano?" Logan asked, his voice low. The question teetered on inappropriate, straddling the invisible borderline between their bodies.

"I haven't slept with him," she answered honestly. Von knew that he wouldn't settle for a half-truth on this front. "I considered it once but I eventually gave up. He's never really shown an acute interest in me, just my ideas. Apparently I don't posses the same flare as your Rory," she replied coolly.

"Stop making this about me," he defended, "I just wanted to know."

The wine had skewn her composure. "You're self-conscious. You don't like that Jess is my editor because you feel like I'm your possession. You dread loosing me to the same person who won Rory. It's a matter of dignity. Of _pride_," she spoke the last word with venom.

Logan, who had never seen Von impassioned, even in speaking, watched her tensely. "Stay with me."

"What?" She looked up at him, her thin neck a darting line. "You want me to sleep with you?"

"Yes," he said seriously, "I want that more than anything."

He took her hand, her wrist, from the tabletop, standing and pulling her towards him. She expected him to kiss her but he abstained, touching her face with his hands, her hair. Logan grazed her lip with his thumb; he drew lines on her jaw and neck. Von didn't attempt to shy away when he reached for the hem of her sweater, pulling it over her flat stomach and releasing her supple arms.

"You are so unbelievably cold," he said, "even while I'm touching you."

She physically rebuked him, bracing her wry hands against his shoulders and forcefully pushing him away. "Make up your mind," she commanded silkily, a subliminal tributary of contempt seeping into her words.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, his face in shadow, "Sometimes my desires conflict. I want you, physically, but at the same time I want to see you shattered," he admitted.

"Logan," Von started, taking a few steps toward him, "take me to bed."

He grasped her hand, laced their fingers together. His breathing, for once, was deep and easy. "C'mon."

**A/N:** _Epilogue will be up soon. Reviews are always appreciated._


	11. Epilogue

**Title:** _This is How I Disappear_

**Rating:** _R, mostly for language_

**Date Written**: _11-2-08_

**Disclaimer: **_I don't own any of this. Gilmore Girls belongs to Amy Sherman-Paladino and the folks at the WB (or the CW, whatever they call it these days). Title comes from the song of the same name by MCR._

**Summary:** _Logan goes through a near death experience while Rory commits to a serious relationship with Jess. Post-season finale._

**A/N: **_Apologies for the long wait. I have been metaphorically swamped with work this past month or so—forgive me? Here's the long awaited ending. Enjoy._

**Epilogue**

In the glare of the early morning sun, his newspaper fluttered, quivering with the gusts of wind. Logan folded it and adjusted his sunglasses, blocking out the glare.

Glancing up, he caught sight of the sveltely line of Von's leg as she descended from the upper deck of the _Sweet Christine_, her peacoat woolen and formfitting.

"Have you seen page six?" She asked, lithely striding over the scrubbed planks of the deck.

"No," he said, lowering the dark lenses of his sunglasses to look at her. "Why do you ask?"

Her smooth hand on the metallic railing, she answered, "Just look."

Logan turned the page, moving aptly against the slowly abating wind. He scanned the organized columns, looking for a familiar name or photograph.

_Renowned Writer marries International Correspondent._

His copy of _The New York Post_ smeared newsprint on his hands. Logan frowned and read over the blurb-length column, skimming for a date. A color photograph had been included of Rory in an elegant, royal blue gown standing next to Jess, both of them immaculately dressed, a tasteful peacock feather worked into her hair.

He folded the page and tucked it underneath his arm. The _Sweet Christine_ sailed at a steady pace, creating an expanding V of wake behind it. Logan rose and stretched, joining Von in the little cabin where she steered.

"How do you feel about Amsterdam?" Von queried, glancing at a list of coordinates. "I have a great aunt who's dying to meet you."

"Full speed ahead," Logan replied, placing his hand over hers on the wooden ships wheel.

--

**A/N:** _I know this is short, but I intended it to be brief. I enjoyed writing this story. It was a departure for me and I hope that it has lived up to your expectations. Thank you for reading._


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